


she danced with her ghosts

by landsmanwashere (pancake_potch)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x02 divergent, F/M, Quick fix it, arya deserved more, pre battle of winterfell, written under the influence of too much wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:06:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_potch/pseuds/landsmanwashere
Summary: podrick and arya before the army of the dead.





	she danced with her ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> because it should've gone differently

She should feel something, she thinks. She’s learned that the woman takes pleasure in coupling as well, and now she wonders why she hasn’t. She’s buried under the furs, naked, perhaps the last night she’s to be upon this earth and it hurts.

 

Maybe it wasn’t Gendry that was the problem, but her. Did the Facelessness take this away from her as well?

 

Slowly, she creeps out, dressing herself. She leaves him behind, sorry that it wasn’t meant to be.

 

Back up on the ramparts, Arya finds the Hound passed out, wine skin still in hand. A wave of affection washes over her before it’s replaced with anger. Winterfell could be attacked at any moment, yet here he is snoring like the dead.

 

Arya scoffs and yanks it out of his hands and makes her way to one of the landings that overlook the courtyard. She blinks and takes a drink and thinks she ought to seek out Jon. She’s just now with him again, only to be yanked out from her arms by the dead walking. She bites down the urge to cry and takes a swig. She wants _Jon_ , but she doesn’t know where to look and he’s so busy with that-

 

She feels the footsteps before she hears them or sees the person attached. She turns, on guard, despite the safety of the walls of Winterfell and the din of all its current inhabitants.

 

But she smiles when Podrick appears.

 

“Podrick.”

 

He startles and looks up at her. “La-Arya.”

 

“Come,” she says. “Have a little.” She waves the wine skin.

 

Podrick looks over his shoulder and smiles as he joins her, taking her offering.

 

They stand side by side, passing the wine between them not speaking before Podrick hesitantly asks, “Are you…are you scared?”

 

He’s not looking at her, but she studies his profile as she thinks on his question. Is she? Death doesn’t scare her, but the unknown does. And _this_ …this is the unknown. Arya’s never seen battle, as it were, but she knows death-and the ways of men. Knows all the ways men can be cruel and terrible, but now the enemy is something she has never faced or prepared for.

 

“I am. Not of dying, but of fighting what I don’t know.” He turns to her now, and she looks into his eyes and there’s something warm in her belly that creeps up to her chest. “You’ve gotten really good at arms. Better than you were when I first saw you.”

 

“Good enough to fight the dead?”

 

“I’ve heard battle is not just skill, but luck too.” Arya places a hand on Podrick’s arm. “We’ve survived this long, perhaps our luck will hold.”

 

Podrick looks down at her hand and frowns. “Lady Arya…may I ask one thing?”

 

Arya furrows her brows. “Yeah. Sure.”

 

A gloved hand cups her cheek and their eyes meet, and she is thrown off for a moment.

 

“May I…We may die tomorrow, and I’ve always wanted…may I kiss you?”

 

Her eyes rake his face and yes, _yes he can kiss her_. She nods, and Podrick has an expression of gentle affection on his face before he slowly leans down and brings his lips to hers.

 

It’s a soft brush of a kiss, closed lipped, but it’s not enough. She pulls him by the back of the neck so that he’ll do it again-and he does. But this time his tongue darts into her mouth and it’s hot and wet and _this is how it should feel_. The fire in her belly extends to her veins and her heart and _this is what she wants_ on the eve of her death.

 

A horn sounds and they dart apart.

 

Ayra panics and grips Podrick’s hand.

 

They’re coming.

 

_Winter is here, and the dead are on the doorstep._

 

“I-Brienne-“ Pod stammers.

 

“I have to find Bran,” Arya shouts above the clamor.

 

Podrick surprises her and pulls her into his arms. “Maybe after this-“

 

“I’ll find you, Pod. Do me a kindness and live, will you?”

 

Podrick nods and Arya releases him to find her brother.

 

As she runs to the Godswood, she chants the first prayer in a long time that isn’t just to the God of Death, but any and all gods that may be listening.

 

**_Please let us live, please let us live, please let us live._ **

 


End file.
